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VOLUME X. (Original Written for the Visitor. “Oh! would I were a Boy again!” “ Oh! would I were a bov again,” To roam where’er I wist, or will, My bosom free from every pain, The heart, and passions, calm and still; For madly, now, each thought—eaeh feeling In agony sweeps o'er my soul: Dark passions, when awakened once, Brook not, but still defj control. I’ve knelt to thee—l kneel again; I’ve worshipp’d thee—l worship still; I said I loved—thou say’st ’tis vain— And must l bow me to thy will? \ et take this last, last pledge of me— Bright hope no longer figures there, For mind , and heart, in agony. Have bow’d to mad/tens —and despair / Schwarz kxski. Awjusta, Geo, “THE PEWTER.” u Solomon saith Money answereth all things”— ergo, get “Me Pewt*r.*'~ Nbho. I own Miss B. is beautiful, Her eyes how sweetly blue; Her waist is delicately made, Her step how lightsome too. She talks in such a knowing style Thut few would dare refute her. The only fault she has on earth Is—that she haint the pewter. I used to be heels-over-head In love with Mary M., I wrote her sonnets twice a week, And even printed them. But just when all admitted that I was her favored suitor, I quit the field—for Bob exclaimed, “ Why', Dick, she haint the pewter' 1 When from the country Fannry came, To speud the winter here, Where’er in public she appeared, There too would I appear: In city ways and sights I was Her only guide and tutor; I think I’ll court her yet—but no, I learn— she haint the pewter. I called upon the Misses White— Miss Emma’s very fair, Around her brow, as white as snow, Sweep braids of golden hair. As for Miss Nancy, all admit E’en Venus muv not hoot her— But what are nil these charms to me When told she haint the pettier / There’s Lizzy G., whom all declare Os city belles, the belle ; She’s petted, flattered and adored By ev’ry dashing swell. High claims to admiration—none Who know her will dispute her; Yet who would wed a lady' now If sure— she haint the pewter DEAREST LOVE, BELIEVE ME. Dearest Lve, believe me, Though all else depart, Naught shall e’er deceive thee In this faithful heart. Beauty may be blighted, Youth may pass away, But the vows we plighted, Ne’er shall know decay. Tempests may assail us From affliction’s coast. Fortune’s breeze may fail us, When we need it most; Fairest hopes may perish, Firmest friends may change, But the love we cherish, Nothing shall estrange. Dreams of fame and grandeur End in bitter tears; Love grows only fonder, With the lapse of years. Time, and change, and trouble, Weaker tics unbind, But the bands redouble True affection’s twined. SAUCY KATE. Kate’s a dear, delicious creature, Merry as a sunny elf; Beautiful in form and feature— Smiling mould of beauty’s self. When she laughs, her silken tresses Fall upon her gentle breast, And her eyes, as dark as midnight, Never seem to be at rest. Kate s a sweet, but saucy creature, With a lip of scarlet bloom— Woodbines sipping golden sunlight, Roses drinking rich perfume ; Voice as dainty as the whisper Founts give in their crystal shrine: Saucy Kate, so full of mischief, Would that I could call thee mine. Kate’s a dear, but saucy creature, Sprightly as a fleet gazelle; Fondness dwells in every' dimple— Surely love has marked her well; Many hearts have strove to win her, Bowed with disappointment low; Saucy Kate, I fear to say it, Winsome, always tell them “No!” 3- Scmtljcun UTwhlij Ciicnrnj antJ ftlisccllmuotts 3ounr.nl, for lljc Ijomc Circle. Cl (Go oi) Sionj, ! THE DIAMOND MERCHANT. AX EA STERN STO EY. CHAPTER 11. Hour after Lour sat Yusnu gul in her apartment, listening to the footfalls of every passing slave, and deeming that each in turn heralded the return of Has san ; hut Hassan came not! Daylight had passed away ; and the illuminated minarets shot high into the air, like fiery shafts, their graceful col umns of light, while the bosom of the Channel glowed like molten metal be neath the blaze. Music was soft in the distance, and, at intervals, a light laugh oramerryseng rang upon the wind— and still Hassan came not! As yet, however, Yusnu gul rather marvelled than mourned at his delay : all the youth of Stamboul were abroad in the glad city, and Hassan, gentle as be was, ever loved to be the first in every festival. The aged woman, therefore, quietly replenished her pipe, and sipped her coffee, and lost herself in conjectures as to the motive of the extraordinary conduct of the Defter-dar, and mental repinings at the unmerited mortification of her high-hearted son. Another hour was filtered through the lap of time, and the loud cannon boomed along the Bosphorus in rapid succession, while the Hitting fires of the festival ran skim me ring along the daik face of night, like mimic lightning; glancing over the tops of the tall cedars, and spreading in sheets of transient flame a mantle of golden glory about the city. At length the cold grey light of morning broke pale aud chilly in the east; the dusky rocks of the Asiatic coast loomed out, stern and sterile; the white buildings of I’era gleamed blank and bleak in the faint sky; and the dis tant minaiets of Scutari looked like giant spirits, as the first beams of day revealed their shadowy outline. It was the morrow of the Bairam—and still Ilassan returned not! Yusnu gul, who loved her son with a devotion as untiring as it was profound, had watched throughout the night with out a sensation of weariness. Hassan was young and high spirited, and had, doubtless, been detained by bis asso ciates : and the heart of the mother was soothed by the belief that, amid the dissipation of the festival, he would for get his recent mortification. But with the chilly, cheerless dawn came other and more anxious thoughts. Alike to the pain-worn patient and to the weary watcher—to the sick and to the sorrow ing—there are no moments so sad and so depressing as those in which day and night stand together on the threshold of time, as though each were reluctant to yield up its empire. \> ben the light broke around her, Yusnu gnl began to fear she knew not what! Ilassan was impetuous, haughty, and uncompromising; of what rashness might he not have been guilty, in the first rush of his resentment ? True, he had loved the Defter-dar as a father; but Ynsnu-gul was woman enough to be aware that outraged affection is the very foundation on which may be erected the firmest superstructure cf hate. His attachment to the Ex-Treasurer had been divested of every taint of worldliness and self interest—a spontaneous out pouring of reverence and regard—but it is ever the most generous spirit which is the quickliest stung; and the mother found no consolation for her solitude in the suggestions of her awakened fan cies. The slaves of Yusnu-gul removed her morning meal untouched. Hassan was yet absent; and the tearless eyes of the gray and faded woman burnt with the fever of her throbbing brain. It was thus that she was found by Nefzi-Sabah, the favorite wife of the Defter-dar, who, on the day succeeding that of the Bairam, entered the harem \ of Yusnu-gul, followed by a couple of I MADISON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 0, 1850. her slaves ; and, casting aside her yash mac, turned towards the mother of Ilas san a brow as moody as her own. “ Ilai, hai—so, so, you are tardy with your welcome, Eftendim ;” commenced the beautiful Circassian, for the aged woman had littered no greeting to her visitor ; “ nor do I ask from you more speedy courtesy. Mashallah ! the wrongs that I have sutiered from the son are fitly followed by the coldness of tbc mother.” “If you are come to tell of Ilassan, speak!” said Yusnu gul, earnestly. “If I am come to tell of Ilassan!” was the retort; “think you that I can tamely sutler the rivalry of a stripling in the affections of the Defter-dar 1— Arc my eyes dim, or my checks faded, lliiff I should be overlooked because he has a smooth tongue and a ready wit ? [s he not a sakil siz—a no beard ?” “Is Hassan indeed with the Defter dar:” asked Yusnu-gul, while a gleam of joy lit up her faded brow. “ What avails it that he is not;” de manded NetzH,Sabah peevishly; “when even the ingratitude and discourtesy of his absence dining the festival of yes terday have not yet opened the eyes of the Defter-dar. No var—what is this? Am I to listen to no discourse more flat tering to my self love than repinings of the non appearance of an ingrate ?” “Talk not of ingratitude, Effendim ;” said the mother indignantly ; “after the gift with which the Defter dar honored my son, he could scarcely have expected thanks at his hands—ltishallah ! Ilas san Effeiidi is no slave.” “ Were lie a Pasha he could not de sire one more costly !” exclaimed the Circassian ; “ hut perchance the spoiled favorite forgot the friend, when ho no longer looked upon the Defter-dar.” “ A shirt suited to a boatman !”said the mother scornfully. “Pistols for his woman hand, of which the diamond hilts can alone bo valuable !to the trouliler of the peace of ha ; reins— ’’ followed up the Circassian. “'browsers, fitting only for a pea i sant—” pursued Yusn.’.gul. “A Damascus dagger whose fellow would besought in vain, even through out the golden city of Stamboul—” per sisted Nclzi-Sabah. “ A shawl-—” commenced the aged woman. “ Worthy to have covered the loins of the camel which carried the Pro phet—” broke in her companion. Yusr.u-gul clapped her hands with a gesture of contemptuous indifference, and hastily commanded that the boksha of the Defter-dar should be unfolded before the visitor ; when the surprise of the Circassian was extreme, on seeing the coarse and unseemly garments which had been tendered to Hassan as the gift of his protector. Rapidly and energetically did Nefzi- Sabali enumerate and describe the con tents of the handkerchief which had been prepared by the bands of the Def ter-dar for his favorite ; and, forgetful of her own fancied subject of complaint, against Hassan, she was soon engaged as anxiously as Yusnu-gul herself in a thousand contradictory and improbable conjectures as to the cause of his unwont ed absence. But, alas! in vain did they surmise, and consult, and explain —Hassan returned not! Months wore painfully away. The heart of Yusnu-gul was a widowed heart; and, as she looked upon the sparkling waters of the Bosphorus dur ing the sunny days of summer, she saw not their beauty, she felt not their charm: to her those waters ever seemed to be the grave of Hassan. “Yes,” would she murmur to herself in her bereavement; “there—beneath that smiling and treacherous wave, lies my manly boy—my only one—the light of my eyes, the moon of my evening sky, the bulbul whose voice is hushed; the joy of tny old age, Ilassan the high hearted !” Nor did the Defter-dar mourn les3 deeply the disappearance of his favorite. Os his death, his violent or self inflicted death, it was impossible to doubt, as every endeavor to discover his fate had proved abortive; and the first anguish of despair had slowly yielded to the calin i er but no less heartfelt grief of resigna tion, when a letter was one morning placed in the hands of the Defter dar, who started with a surprise which al most amounted to incredulity, on recog nizing the well known character of Ilas san. “ Bisinillah !—hi the name of the most merciful Allah;” such were the contents of the paper; “I am lost to you, and to the world : I am lost even to myself: and, having told volt this, I dare not add anything in elucidation of a mystery which must have bewildered, and, ldo even hope, have grieved you. I think of you often—fondly—your memory dwells with mo as the remem brance of lost light lingers witli the tenant of a dungeon ; or as the Visions of departed liberty comes hack upon the spirit of the despairing captive. I love to remember that I was dear to you ; I have forgotten all that wounded alike my pride and my affection. I retain jealously and fondly the gentler reminiscences which are wound about my heart too closely ever to he rent asunder! I parted from you proudly ; all the kindness that you had lavished upon me; every token of affection, every proof of regard, had been the spontaneous offering of your own gen erous nature. Alas! I now appeal to your memory as a suppliant. If you ever loved—if you still love me—if you would save me from misery, from suf fering, from death—a speedy and pain ful death—cherish no doubt, admit no suspicion ; seek not to penetrate a mys tery too dense ever to be fathomed. Do not despise nor refuse me; but remem berii g only the loving trust of our earli er and happier communion, bestow out of the wealth which Allah has poured into your lap sufficient to save mu from destruction. Deposit, at the waning of the moon, a purse, containing twenty thousand piastres, on the tall tuibaiied head stone to the right of the great avenue of the Cemetry of Scutari; one will be there to secure it; but, as you love me, linger not to assure yourself of this fact, nor to palter with the messen ger. in doing either you will'destroy me. I dare add no more—pity and pray for the lost Ilassan.” The Defter-dar read and re-read the letter ; there could be no doubt but that the hand-writing was that of him whom he had loved so well—of the son of Yusnu-gul ; and, although with a sick heart, and a throbbing pulse, he hesitat ed not to obey the bidding. The dawn was spreading faintly in the sky, and the moon was waning into a pale and sickly white, when the Def ter-dar, leaving his caique at the pier of Scutari, slowly wound his way through the hushed and slumbering city, and thence passed alone into its stately ne cropolis. Long sweeps of wind were heaving the heavy cypress boughs, like spirit-sighs; but the Defter-dar quailed not in his purpose. He plunged into the deep gloom of the grave forest, and soon stood before the tall stone which had been indicated. At its base was one of those small reservoirs, hollowed in the marble for the use cf the birds and the wandering dogs, so common in Turkish burial-places; the little basin was dried up : and in this spot the gen erous friend deposited the sum which had been required of him, turned a long, searching look into the glooin around him, and then slowly moved away. But it was difficult to depart without one retrospective glance ; and the Def ter-dar bad not progressed more than a few yards, ere lie paused, and looked back. A dusky figure flitted across the path, and lingered an instant beneath the tall tornb—a deep voice murmured, “It la well!” and then the ex courtier was once more alone in the midst of the deep stillness. CHAPTER lit. A year went by—a long and dreary year—and the memory of Hassan be came to the Defter dar like the indistinct vision of a painful dream ; but the mys tery was yet to deepen, and the fact of his existence was once more to arouse all the pain-fraught sympathies of those who had loved him. A second letter, written like tho first in agony of spirit, was placed in the hands of the Defter dar at the expiration of that period by one of his slaves ; and the bearer, unmoved by the peril of his mission, had east off his slippers on the threshold of the ex treas urer ; and there, awaited a reply. “Once," thus ran tho missive, “once I was dear to you : you were to me as a father, and 1 loved you as a son. That I still hold you in tny heart, bo this my witness! I may bo forgotten—may have been so long; yet I pray you in mercy to recall my memory. lam in danger imminent, instant danger—and yon alone can save me. You are wealthy, you are genetous —a trusty slave will deliver this letter. Should you deny my prayer, or detain my messenger, I shall soon ho beyond help. If, however, you would once more save mo from de struction, let him be tho bearer of twenty thousand piastres. I dare not doubt, that you will preserve tne; ltishallah' you are (lie last hope of the miserable Hassan !” The Defter-dar summoned tho strange slave into his presence; ho bribed him with gold and soft words; he threatened him with tho bastinado and tho bow string; but lie could extort no intelli gence of I lie present position or the threatened peril of Ilassan. “Destroy or even detain me, and lie is lost,” was the only answer to every threat. “Dog me,and while lam elud ing your pursuit, his fate will ho accom plished.” To the more gentle argument of bribe and ent.ealy he was equally invulnerable. “ If you grant tho request of which 1 am ; the bearer,” he said, “Hassan is saved; j and for myself, in that case, my reward !is sure. Effendim, I ask of you nothing j save despatch.” j Without the hesitation of a moment, j the Defter-dar placed the required sum in the hands of the messenger; and ac ! companied it witli a letter, replete with friendship and anxiety, to Hassan, and expressions of the most affectionate and sorrowing interest, lie besought him to unveil his melancholy mystery to his best friend, for melancholy it must assur edly be, when it could thus sever him from the mother of his youth and the companion of his manhood ; he prom ised, should he have placed his life in jeopardy by some act of violence or folly, to exert for him all the interest which he yet possessed at court, and concluded by drawing a miserable picture of the wretched Yusnu-gul, withering away into a solitary and tin regret ted grave. But when tho letter was concluded, and the money delivered into the keep ing of the slave, it was not so easy to suffer him to depart unwatched; and a trusty servant was put upon his track, who followed for hours tho intricate course of the stranger; but he followed in vain—the inattention of a moment sufficed to render abortive tho exertions of a day; and lie returned to the palace of the Defter-dar, defeated and baffled. Once more months passed away ; and, even as it had been foretold to Ilassan, the disconsolate Yusnu-gul died. She bad mourned her son, when she be lieved him to be lost to her forever, with the calm, deep grief of resignation ; but her feeble frame and excited mind could not contend with the irritation of this new mystery, this unfathomable secret; and she bent beneath the shock as the forest tree bends to the tempest breath; and as the overstrained branches, bowed beyond-Iheir power of resistance, rend the trunk from which they sprang, so did the feelings of Yusnu-gul, indulged and encouraged in the solitude of tho harem, break the heart that could sustain the pressure no longer. There were moments when, in think ing of Ilassan, and in weaving strange fancies on his fate, the Defter dar almost hoped that lie should hear of him no more. That his letter had remained un answered rather grieved than surprised him; for he felt that, had Ilassan been free to act, he would long ere this have returned to his home, and to those whom he had loved from his boyhood ; and he, consequently, visited his silence upon the same system of coercion, which had for bidden his re appearance among his friends. Could lie have disentangled the ravelled skein of secresy in whose meshes the poor youth was hound, the Defter dar would have exerted every energy, and strained every nerve, to restore him to the world ; blit to hear of him only to earn the miserable privilege of know ing him to he beyond human help, was a torment rather than a blessing to his anxious affection. His mother was no more; his former associates had almost forgotten him. He, alone, remembered him with regret; and yet, lie would have thanked the messenger who brought the tidings of his death. But this was not to he : a third time came a scroll from Ilassan—a voice from his living grave— a record of his jeopardy—an appeal to the friend who had cherished him:— “For the last time,” he wrote, “Ilas san, the son of Said, pours forth his grief before the Defter-dar of the Sultan Mott rad. I have a vague dream that a shad ow had passed over jour brightness, ere from me light was altogether shutout. It may have been so—l know not if it were—l heed it not, though you pro claim it to be truth. The sky is full of stars: the sage alone marks the quench ing of those which fade from the galaxy: to the common gaze all is unchanged— I shall trouble you no more—this is my last appeal. Save me, or I am lost— gold alone can serve me : you have gold and your heart is large: to none else ciiu I apply. I write to you like a mad man, hut it is only the madness of des peration. I care not what may he the consequence, I will wiite to you no more. Friend! father! protector!—save me again on this occasion—place the same sum as before at the disposal of my mes senger; then pity and forget the lost Ilassan.” The Defter dar replied to the missive by silently putting a purse of gold into the hands of the expectant slave, and coldly telling him that he was free to de part when he listed. The man looked steadily in the face of tho courtier, made a respectful obei-ance, and withdrew. As he left the house, lie glanced stealth ily back to note if he were pursued, hut the street was empty; and the manner of the Defter-dar had been sufficiently indifferent to convince him that the ex istence and well-being of Ilassan were rapidly becoming unimportant to his for mer friend. Thus assured, the messen ger made few digressions from his direct path ; and, after half an hour of rapid walking, beat upon the door of a stately mansion, and was instantly ad mitted. But the Defter-dar had learnt a lesson of self-reliance from the failure of the at tendant whom he had on a previous oc casion intrusted with the discovery of a secret which he was morbidly anxious to unravel; and suffering the messenger of Ilassan to leave by the main portal, un pursued and unimpeded, be hastily changed bis turban and pelisse, and passed out by a side door opening into his own garden, and thence into a cross path terminating in tho main street, along which be shrewdly conjectured that tho slave, whose person he was con fident of recognizing on the instant, must ultimately pass. Nor was he deceived in his conjecture; for, having by this less circuitous route arrived in the great thorough fore before the person whom he was anxious to observe, and having, moreover, by his own change of costume, pievented all suspicion save that which might be created by bis subsequent want of caution, he had ero long the satisfac tion of seeing the slave turn the corner NUMBER 36. of the lane, mid make his way towards the great square of the Atmeidan. The Defter-dar was careful, as they, crossed the large open space, and passed beside its stately columns, to shroud himself among the crowd; and, when they entered the street beyond it, to leave such a distance between the stranger and himself as to set suspicion at defiance, lie remarked that the slave looked back at intervals, like one who cared not to trust altogether to his seem ing impunity; but whenever this hap pened, the Defter-dar craftily paused, as though he were entering some house be side his path ; or fairly swung himself round, and made a few backward steps, as though his route crossed that of his' fellow passenger: thus preventing the per fect view of his person which would have betrayed his continued identity. And thus it was that the Deftar di r tracked the messenger of ILissan to the dwelling which lie entered; and lie even ventured to linger a while in its immedi ate neighborhood to mark whether lie would re appear; but he <&me not forth again; and the Defter Oar*finally bent his steps homeward, with the feeling of one who is just awakening from a per plexed and painful dream. On the morrow ho caused strict but guarded inquiries to be made, and soon learnt the history of the house and its in habitants. It was the abode, said the neighbors, of a stern and pious matron', Hemdoune Hanoum bv name, whose ha rem was invisible as that of the Grand Seigniour himself: who gave alios largely to the poor; and who welcomed with courtesy every wandering dervish or fakeer who claimed her' hospitality, and deemed her cares amply repaid by their prayers and blessings. In vain did the Defter-dar endeavor by subtle questionings to elicit informa tion of a more mysterious and exciting, nature; the whole day was spent in use less efforts to shake, or at least to throw doubt upon, this well-connected story • and, when evening fell, he became more than ever perplexed as to the measures which he should adopt to penetrate so closely-woven a mystery. The hour of rest came, and the Defter dar retired to his bed, but not to sleep. He lay revolving a thousand schemes, each less feasible than the last, until suddenly anew idea burst upon him ; when, with a prayer to Allah and the- Prophet, he composed himself quietly upon his cushions, with a smile upon his lips, and slept. Tun l 'oo’s Jew’s Harp. —A brace of Paddies having landed in Boston from the Emerald Isle, went to a tavern and called lor dinner. The landlord inform ed them that, be bad no victuals prepared but apple dumplings, which were accor dingly set before them. One says to the other : “ What kind of meat is this ? I never saw the like in Ireland.” “Arrah, by my sowl,” said the other, “ but I’ll soon be after finding out if it be poison or not,” and threw one of the dumplings under the table to a large dog, who instantly seized it. The heat ot it severely burning the dog’s mouth, the animal begau to whine and howl, and paw his mouth with his fore foot, making a great noise. “Ah, and Surely it’s a dog’s Jew’s harp; only hear how swately ho plays!” Power or Instinct.— The sluggish sea turtle loves her home. A huge creature of this kind was caught by English sailors near the island of Ascension, and a name and date burnt into its upper shell. On the way to England it feH sick and out of sheer pity it was thrown overboard in the English channel. Two years later the same turtle was captured once more, now quite well, near its old home, Ascension. What strange and inexplicable homesick ness carried the slow heartless creature 4000 miles back through “ the ocean where there is no tiack and no high roads 1”